


Ever On and On

by yubiwamonogatari



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/F, FemBagginshield, old ladies uwu, retired in the shire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-09 06:12:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8878990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yubiwamonogatari/pseuds/yubiwamonogatari
Summary: The road goes ever on and on, but before they head out, Bilbo and Thorin have one last party to attend.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Filin prinsessa (ErinacchiLove)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErinacchiLove/gifts).



> I hope you enjoy this fic :D!

 

 

 

“So there I was, at the mercy of three... monstrous... trolls...!” exclaimed Bilbo, her eyes wide and the wrinkles on her face deepening as she pulled a frightened face. The group of tiny fauntlings stared up at her with open wonder, forgotten cakes and sandwiches crumbling in their hands as they listened.

Thorin hid her smile behind her glass of red wine, leaning against one of the many tent poles in the Party Field.

“And they were all arguing amongst themselves about how they were going to cook us! Whether it be turned on a spit, or whether they should sit on us one by one, and squash us into jelly.”

Gasps exploded from the children, and most of their fistfuls of food fell onto their clothing or the grass around them. The pop, bang, and squeal of the fireworks above went ignored.

Bilbo's eyes gleamed with delight at having such a captive audience.

Thorin took another sip of her wine. Bilbo, she suspected, had been at the Gaffer's own brew. Though the liquor was strong enough to knock a dwarf down onto her back, hobbits seemed to guzzle the stuff with ease despite the side effects. In Bilbo's case, it just made her overly sentimental and more likely to refuse to be interrupted.

“They spent so much time arguing the whether-tos and the whyfores, the sun's first light crept over the top of the trees, and... poof!”

Bilbo waved her hands, making the fauntlings jump with surprise.

“Turned them all to stone!”

“To stone!” crowed one of the smallest hobbits around Bilbo's feet, her little face lit up with excitement.

“Yes, quite! To stone,” Bilbo repeated. She stood, brushing down her waistcoat and trousers. “Well. Telling such exciting stories has made me quite hungry. Run along, and if you find me resting my weary old feet again, you may come back for another tale. But beware! They'll only grow more frightening as the night goes on!”

Thorin watched the fauntlings scrabble to their feet with whoops of delight, and as quickly as they had swarmed around Bilbo they disappeared again, weaving in and out of the dancing, laughing adults.

“I distinctly remember more sacks, ropes, and parasites,” Thorin said, wrapping her arm around her wife's shoulders and brushing a whiskery kiss to her temple. “And besides, what happened to Gandalf's rescue? I thought you liked his 'the dawn will take you all' line.”

Bilbo laughed, sneaking her arm around Thorin's waist as she finished off her mug of home brew and steered them towards the tables, the wood still bending under the weight of food piled up on them.

“I do, I do! It's just that the old troublemaker's been plied with compliments enough tonight. Why, one more, and his head will pop just like one of those fireworks of his! Look at him, he's got quite enough of all that.”

Thorin peered over her shoulder, smiling at the sight of Gandalf surrounded by joyous fauntlings and golden butterflies.

“Perhaps you have a point,” she smiled, pulling away to grab them both fresh plates. Before she could hand one to Bilbo, her wife had been caught by a certain Mrs. Bracegirdle, and was performing her millionth round of welcomes and well-wishes.

Thorin took the liberty of wandering between the tables, piling Bilbo's plates with her favourite bits and pieces. The hobbits around her smiled and waved, and she paused for several conversations of her own. She'd lived a comfortable 50 years or so in the Shire now, and as she meandered through the tents and throngs, her heart felt like it was swelling and growing tight all at once.

She would miss them. For all their quaint little ways and traditions, for the annoyances they caused her wife on a daily basis, for all the stares and rumours about her, they were a good-hearted people, if a little fearful of the unknown.

Thorin ducked into a small tent for the washing up, finding it abandoned at the moment. The crackle of a large firework rushing into the air barely registered as she sat down on one of the little stools, two heavy plates in her hands.

She still wasn't entirely sure if Bilbo could and would really do what she'd been planning.

Thorin closed her eyes. The Shire had become her home, too. Fíli ruled in Erebor, and Dís ruled in the Blue Mountains. Kíli spent his time between Erebor and Mirkwood, an official diplomat, with Tauriel by his side. They had all drifted to different parts of Middle Earth, all carved new homes after the quest and the Battle of the Five Armies.

She'd carved hers with Bilbo, and when Drogo and Primula had passed away so tragically, bringing little Frodo into their lives... it had really been a home like the one she'd never quite let herself dream about.

But home is where the heart is, as Bilbo liked to say, and a mixture of her wife's wander-lust and the encroaching end of Bilbo's long life loomed over them. Rivendell was their best option, along with elven medicine and magic.

Mahal knew she'd live out the rest of Bilbo's years amongst the elves, if it gave Bilbo just a few more years to live out.

A cacophony of yells and shouts from outside jerked Thorin from her thoughts. The cry of 'dragon!' froze her blood, her heart pounding as she dashed out outside – just in time to see a field full of hobbits on their bellies on the grass, and the sudden explosion of an enormous firework above the party field.

She blinked, her pulse still thundering in her ears as the hobbits cheered and whooped, leaping to their feet.

“Just a firework, my boy!” Bilbo laughed, slapping a slightly dazed Frodo on the back before she spotted Thorin and took a plate with a smile. “That Gandalf! Setting off such a firework with no explanation. Frightened half the Shire, but not me. I know a dragon when I see one,” she said, shoving a whole pork pie into her mouth.

Thorin breathed out a chuckle, feeling her heart start to calm.

Just a firework.

Bilbo threw a critical glance up to the sky, tracking the position of the stars. It was a skill Thorin had taught her while they were on the road – how to judge position and time by the where the stars sat in the sky.

“Well. I think it's about time for supper, so let's take these plates over to the tables, hmn? I suppose it's nearly time, after all.”

A flicker of sadness brushed over Bilbo's expression as she looked over the gathered hobbits.

“... We do not have to go,” Thorin murmured, taking one of her wife’s smaller hands between hers.

Bilbo glanced up, her expression softening as she leaned in to press a kiss to Thorin's bristly jaw.

“I know. But we must. I feel it in my bones. A big change is coming, and there are other places for us to be. Come along, now. I've got a speech to give, and a good joke to play!”

“I still don't think you should go through with it,” Thorin grumbled, following her wife over to the tables – which were beginning to fill once more. “I think it will be found to be in bad taste.”

“Well they all got over you, didn't they?” Bilbo grinned, making a sandwich from the cured meats and cheeses on her plate.

Thorin prodded her in the side, rolling her eyes.

“You wound me, amralê.”

“Old softie,” Bilbo said fondly, but around a mouthful of food.

Thorin didn't try to deny it, placing her hand on the small of Bilbo's back as they ate. It didn't take long before the tables were heaving with the hobbits Bilbo had invited to her more intimate gathering, as well as many hobbits who hadn't been invited at all.

When the second round of pudding appeared, Thorin pressed a kiss to Bilbo's cheek and stood.

“I will be waiting for you,” she murmured.

“Oh, you won't stay for the speech?” Bilbo asked, blinking up at her as she licked syrup from her spoon.

Thorin shook her head, glancing around at the merry hobbits before speaking quietly, so only her wife could hear.

“No. This is not my goodbye, after all, and if I am still here they will hound me once you've had your fun.”

Bilbo hummed in agreement.

“I suppose so. Well, wish me luck! I'll see you before long. Not a word to Frodo, remember?”

Thorin stole a kiss from her wife's mouth, glancing over to Frodo. The lad was laughing with his two cousins and Sam, clashing their mugs together and singing.

Her chest and throat tightened suddenly. Bilbo's hand on her cheek startled her, and she inhaled sharply.

“You'll see him again before long, love. You said you'd come back to bring my armchair to Rivendell, after all. And we'll write. Frodo might even come and visit us.”

“I know,” she whispered, but she missed him already. A letter had been tucked under his pillow, and she had agreed leaving quietly like this would be easier for her, too. But it still stung, and as she strode away from the party and up towards Bag End, the fading sounds from Bilbo and Frodo's birthday weighed on her like a blanket.

Thorin opened the door to Bag End, knowing somehow it would be the last time. She ran her fingers over the carved wood, feeling where the green paint was weathering and chipping.

Where she had knocked, all those years ago.

Though moonlight shone down upon the door, Gandalf's rune had long since faded. The smial was still warm from the fires lit earlier in the day, and she could smell the last whiffs of the sugar cookies and cinnamon buns she and Frodo had baked that morning.

She took a deep breath and closed the door behind her. While they had been at the party, a few of the merchants from the Blue Mountains and Erebor had stayed behind to secretly pack a cart of their belongings, agreeing to charter it to Rivendell ahead of them.

Empty spaces where their belongings had sat for decades loomed in the low light. Thorin wandered through the house in a daze, looking around as if she was seeing it for the first time in years. She kept her hands busy, packing their two rucksacks and rolling up their bedrolls and blankets tightly.

Thorin set the rucksacks down by the door, changing from her party clothes into ones more suited for the open road. She stood Sting and Orcrist side by side and, after doing one slow, final round of the smial, she took her pipe and sat in the armchair by the smouldering embers of the dying fire.

Leaving home had never been easy, but at least this time she was leaving on her own terms with her wife by her side. Thorin stared into the grate, smoke curling lazily around her.

How many decades had it been since she'd sat here for the first time, transfixed by the fire and the dread in her belly in the face of such an impossible quest? She had been fading. A candle guttering in the wind. She had sat before this very fire, and thought deeply on the nature of victory and failure.

Never once had the thought of a wife, a warm fire, and another child to help raise entered her mind. Not beyond fantasy, when she felt like her work had been done.

When she felt like she deserved such an end.

The door opened and she turned in her chair, smiling as Bilbo appeared from the thin air with a beam on her face.

“I suppose your little joke turned out in your favour?”

“Oh, you should have seen them!” she cackled, pulling a mocked-shocked face. “They'll be talking about that for decades. Now, I've a few last things to grab, and we can be on our way,” Bilbo called, hurrying through the smial.

Thorin hummed in agreement, looking back into the embers. Then she stood, heading to the bathroom. She combed out her hair, long and mostly grey now, braiding it into a simple, sturdy pattern. Voices echoed through the house – Bilbo and Gandalf, from what she could hear. She put her comb in her pocket, and paused with her hand on the door handle.

“Well if I'm angry, it's your fault!”

Thorin frowned, stepping out of the bathroom and striding towards the living room.

“It has been called that before, but not by you.”

“What business is it of yours, what I do with my own things?!” came Bilbo's loud, angry reply.

The ring. That little magic curious ring Bilbo always carried and guarded fiercely. Thorin had never liked it particularly, though it had proved useful many times.

There was something sinister in the gold.

“I think you've had that ring quite long enough.”

“You want it for yourself!”

Thorin turned the corner into the living room, freezing along with her wife as Gandalf seemed to suddenly tower over them, his face and the room sinking into darkness.

“Bilbo Baggins! Do not take me for some conjurer of cheap tricks. I am not trying to rob you.”

Then something in his old, lined face softened, and Thorin's body relaxed.

“I'm trying to help you.”

Bilbo's face crumpled and she staggered forwards, wrapping her arms around Gandalf's waist.

“All your long years we've been friends, trust me as you once did. Let it go.”

Thorin stepped forwards, placing her hand on Bilbo's back as Gandalf crouched in front of her.

“You did say everything was to be left to Frodo,” she murmured. “That the ring would help him, should he need it.”

Bilbo nodded, looking older than Thorin had ever seen her.

“You're right. The ring must go to Frodo.” She sniffed and moved away, grabbing her rucksack and Sting as Thorin followed her lead. Relief rushed through her as she settled the pack on her shoulders, strapping Orcrist to her belt.

“It's late,” Bilbo continued, heading to the door with her walking stick in her hand. “The road is long. Yes, it is time.”

She opened the door and took a deep breath, but Gandalf's voice stopped her in her tracks.

“Bilbo. The ring is still in your pocket.”

Bilbo turned to look at him, choking out a weak laugh as her face darkened for a moment. Thorin's gut sank, her eyes flicking down to where Bilbo was reaching into her pocket. She drew the ring out, holding it in her slightly shaking hand.

No gold had ever called to Thorin in the same way the ring did.

The cursed gold in Erebor was like a fanfare, a triumphant blast of brass and glory, promising an end to suffering for all her kin. It was bigger than the mountain, bigger than Middle Earth, the most important thing because of the promise of its wealth. Erebor's gold had hammered down upon her in a relentless assault, and she had fallen to it.

But this ring was a whisper. A breath in the shadows. A spider crouched in a dark and silent corner.

She had touched it, just once, after Bilbo had drunk a lake's worth of ale during Frodo's first birthday and had fallen asleep in front of the fire. It had felt cool and almost brittle. Like the gold was simply a shell over something else lurking within. It seized her senses, and wild thoughts of stealing it and running from the Shire had wracked her as she crouched frozen over her wife.

Then Bilbo had snored, smacking her lips and grunting in her sleep. The thoughts evaporated, and Thorin carried her to bed and vowed never to pry into the magic ring again.

Tension thickened the air like smog as Bilbo stared at the ring. Thorin could feel her pulse pounding in her ears as Bilbo's dark expression contorted.

But then Bilbo's hand turned, and the ring fell to the wooden floor with an echoing thud; neither bouncing nor rolling. The hobbit hurried out the door, pausing before she got to the stairs. Bilbo exhaled shakily, straightened her shoulders, and – to Thorin's eyes – seemed to grow a little taller. A little fuller around her edges.

“You know, I've thought of an ending for my book.”

Thorin walked over to stand beside her, reaching to gently clasp one of her smaller hands in her own.

Bilbo smiled at her, turning to look up at Gandalf.

“And she lived happily ever after, to the end of her days.”

“And I'm sure you will, my dear friend. The both of you.”

Bilbo nodded, taking her hand from Thorin to stretch it out towards the wizard.

“Goodbye, Gandalf.”

“Goodbye, dear Bilbo. And goodbye, dear Thorin.”

Thorin nodded sharply, shaking Gandalf's hand before taking her wife's again, both of them walking down the stone path with matching steps. Through the gardens they'd planted and tended, past the mailbox and the bench they'd spent so many mornings on, and out onto the little winding road.

As the gate closed behind them for the last time, Bilbo began to sing.

_“The road goes ever on and on,_  
_down from the door where it began,_  
_now far ahead the road has gone!_  
_And I must follow it if I can.”_

Thorin inhaled deeply, closing her eyes as she chased the lingering scent of wood-smoke and autumn in the Shire.

The road went on, and they were not at their final resting place yet.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to Kelly and Ruto for beta'ing this fic! I had such fun writing it and I really hope you all enjoyed reading it :)
> 
> Let me know what you thought of these two old softies, hehe.
> 
> Have a happy hobbit holiday, everyone!


End file.
